


Don't dream it's over

by Zeryx



Series: Don't Dream it's Over [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Dean, Castiel Talks Dirty, Castiel/Dean Winchester BDSM, Dean in Panties, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 10 Finale, Smut, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeryx/pseuds/Zeryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Dean meet again for the first time since the Mark of Cain has been removed. </p><p> <br/><i>"It'll be alright, Dean. Somehow, we always make it work." Cas's eyes are blazing sincerity, a darker blue than the washed out sky overhead.</i> </p><p>  <i> Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Dean breaks his gaze. "Yeah, except for the part where it's always just a bigger mess. You can't say you've never noticed that, Cas."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't dream it's over

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't 100% canon-compliant. Thanks as always to my dedicated beta, [Hit_the_Books!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books)

  
 It's late summer and the land is parched. Row upon row of dried brown cornstalks as far as the eye can see. Iowa seems endless, and Dean is lulled into a near trance as he taps along to Queen absent-mindedly. Sam lolls beside him on the passenger side, hair constantly stirred by the a/c.  
  
 The fields change into a sea of grass; wheat rippling in the breeze like an inland sea. Dean blinks one, twice...thrice, each time his eyelids feel successively heavier and his head nods forward. There is literally nothing else for all the flat plains surrounding them.  
  
 "OK, siesta time." Dean misses being younger, when all he needed to sustain these long drives was a few cups of coffee a day and the occasional Red Bull.  
  
 Sam blinks over at him blearily, "Huh? what? What's wrong Dean, why're we stopped?"  
  
 Dean smiles tightly, looking straight ahead as he clutches the wheel. "No particular reason, Sammy. Just good old appreciation of nature's pageantry."  
  
 Sam squints at him in, unable to get his eyes fully open. "OK," he says with clear disbelief.  
  
 Dean grins at Sam with only the side of his mouth facing him raised in what's more of a grimace. "Unless you've developed a kink for road-head, I seriously need a pick-me-up. Imma' stretch my legs and take a leak."  
  
 Sam rolls his eyes and settles back against the window, "Sure."  
  
 "Sure, you'll suck my dick? I wouldn't be if I were you." Dean winks at Sam's scowl and leaves the car.  
The days where they get mistaken for a couple are largely behind them, but Dean can't seem to resist digging at Sam once in awhile when he's bored. It is a shadow of the easy camaraderie they used to share, a mockery of the togetherness they used to have.  
He misses Cas. He's lost track of the fallen angel's whereabouts since he nearly beat him to death and narrowly avoided killing him with his own seraph blade.  
  
 Dean makes his way to the trunk of the Impala and opens it. He picks up an angel blade and stares at it while the sun beats down. Insects drone and hum; the sussurus of wavering wheat washes over him. His eyes are drawn irresistibly to the point of the knife. The hilt and the blade itself do not get any warmer as the sun makes it glint in his grasp; it nearly glows in the merciless light of late afternoon. Sweat drips down the back of his neck as he stares dazzled by the near blinding reflection that does not show his face, no matter how he turns the blade.  
  
 Once he'd thought Cas no more than this: a tool at hand. A knife that would never cut him. That had changed, and then Cas had presumed to call himself God. It had been a long time since Castiel had beaten him in an alley; when he had beaten Dean and broken his arm in a crypt was not so distant.  
"Ancient history," Dean mutters, slowly tracing up a vein with the tip of the knife.  
  
 The sun beats over his head and shoulders, casting his shadow long over the road in front of him. "Where did we go wrong, Cas? I don't—I don't know what to say to you, man." Dean hangs his head, presses the tip of the knife into his palm, watches as a few drops of blood well up; sweat and blood suspended above the dry earth, the cracked asphalt and the faded paint on this middle of nowhere road.  
  
 Dean watches as the blood continues to sluggishly flow; it hasn't been that long since it would've healed over as fast as he could draw breath. That had been before—before Cas had gripped him tight and saved him, again—flaring his grace and banishing the darkness from Dean a second time. Now they face the Darkness itself, a primordial evil that's existed since before time began, and Dean is lost again.  
  
 So he and Sam are doing what they always do; saving people, hunting things. Traveling endless roads that never seem to have anything good waiting at the end. But Dean's never done this expecting any kind of reward, except keeping his brother and now Castiel alive. Dean squeezes his fist. The blood hits the pavement with a _spack_. He'd almost killed Cas.  
  
 "What the hell'm I doing?" Dean scrubs a hand through his hair, puts the angel blade down, and pulls out a piss-warm Red Bull. The snap of the pull-tab puncturing the can nearly makes him miss a familiar sound: wings flapping.  
Dean turns around, nearly missing the sight of a dead crow on the road ahead as Castiel fills his vision. He resists the urge to spit, knowing the dead bird is bad luck.  
  
 "Hello, Dean."  
  
 "Hey Cas. Boy, am I glad to see you, buddy. All juiced up, too! How long has it been since you could scare the crap out of me like that?" Dean smiles weakly. Cas looks neither upset nor happy; just a solid presence in front of him.  
  
 "Too long... I have had some _affairs_ to put in order since you saw me last."  
  
 "Gotcha'. Well, some good news finally, at least. What brings you out to bumfuck nowhere?"  
  
 "I heard your prayer. I felt your regret..." he looks Dean dead in the eye, piercing his heart and stealing the breath from his lungs, "your longing."  
  
  Dean looks down, watches ants marching on the still shiny but lifeless body of the dead crow. Castiel marches forward, puts one hand on Dean's shoulder and the other on his chin; tilts his face up, forces him to look.  
"It'll be alright, Dean. Somehow, we always make it work." Cas's eyes are blazing sincerity, a darker blue than the washed out sky overhead.  
  
 Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Dean breaks his gaze. "Yeah, except for the part where it's always just a bigger mess. You can't say you've never noticed that, Cas." He shrugs out from under Cas's hands, drinks the piss-warm, fake orange flavored drink. "World would've been better off if I'd said yes to Micheal. Now look at us, the entirety of the _freaking universe_ is at risk. How do you fuck up worse than that, huh?" He throws the can on the ground and shakes Cas by the shoulders. "Freaking tell me, you son of a bitch!"  
  
 Castiel spins out of his grasp, and then his left hand is encircling Dean's right wrist. "By not being whom you were meant to be, Dean. God created us all with a purpose. Yours is surely to show the triumph of free will over destiny: love and friendship, brotherhood over fate." Cas's eyes are shuttered, and the _glug glug_ of the can spilling its contents a few feet away is the only thing filling the silence between them for a few moments.  
  
 "Let go of me," Dean whispers.  
  
 Cas's eyes are steely, resolute like a few days ago, when he'd just kept coming no matter how many times Dean had driven him to the ground.  
"Never."  
  
 Dean is soaked through with sweat as the ants leave the crow and find his discarded drink, which has cut a trail through the roadside dust and is trickling into the golden wheat. "Cas..." he will never understand how he earned this loyalty.  
  
 Cas brings Dean's blood-stained palm to his mouth; presses a soft kiss to it and drags his tongue across in one long stroke. Dean turns red and a familiar tingle heats his palm while a not-so-familiar tingle lights his blood. He is dizzy with more than heat and exhaustion. Cas drops his hand.  
  
 "You... you kissed it better?" He flexes his hand and finds the surface unmarred, clean of even the slightest stain of blood.  
  
 Cas tilts his head to the side, just regarding him steadily, face a neutral mask. "Yes."  
  
 Dean scrubs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "A-anyway," he licks his lips, "We gotta' get this show back on the road. There's a nasty poltergeist kicking up trouble in Madison."  
  
 "Alright. I shall see you later, Dean."  
  
He blinks and Castiel is gone.  
  


  


***

 Later that night, Dean dreams of Cas. He is dead tired from the heat, the hunt, the humidity—everything. Dean hit the wall and has knocked back enough of a bottle of Jim Beam to ensure sleeping through the night. Sam was in a room nearby, because Dean just couldn't bear to have him so close by right now.

 It is far from the first time Castiel has haunted his dreams, and it makes him uneasy every time because there's always the possibility it's _really Cas,_ and this time in particular it'd be too terrible to contemplate.

 He is naked, exposed and vulnerable, on his knees in front of his friend; Cas is fully clothed as he stands in front of Dean. It's a twisted mirror of the time in Lucifer's crypt. Castiel is petting him, stroking his hand over and over through Dean's hair; stare intense with those damn blue eyes lasering into him as his voice comes low and soft.  
"You're a good boy, Dean. Be good for me and put those on."

 There's a pair of jade green lace and satin panties in Dean's hands now. He swallows thickly and complies, cheeks burning a little with shame. There's nothing wrong with liking this, right? It was just something he hadn't indulged in in a long time. He sits on the floor and puts his legs through, feeling Cas's gaze heavy on his body as he stretches the fabric up over his hips and snaps it into place. it's tight on his flesh, pressing his genitals into his body. He moans a little and starts to get hard — his flush has started up the back of his neck and starts spreading to his chest as he runs a thumb along his sex, stroking the silky fabric into it.

 Cas is on him in an instant, pushing his hands up over his head, trapping Dean beneath him. Dean moans and rolls his hips, pressing their crotches together. Cas hisses in his ear. "You will only touch yourself when I say you may." He trails kisses down Dean's jaw and pauses with his mouth over the other man's, brushing his lips as he speaks. "Do you understand?"

 "Yes."

 "Yes, what?"

 Dean grinds into Cas and whispers, "Yes, sir."

 Castiel rewards him with a kiss that is so scorching hot (wet, slow and perfect) that it reminds Dean again that this is only a dream. The reality is he can't remember the last time someone gave him this. Where someone touched him, knowing who and what he really was. Cas puts a hand back in Dean's hair, tugging gently as their mouths slide together. He's wearing too damn many clothes, but there is nothing Dean can do about it. His hand cups the back of Dean's head, cradling the base of his skull; he then squeezes the nape of his neck. Dean moans shamelessly, glad this is a dream, as Cas's hand comes around to his throat and presses down brutally. They both become violently hard and Dean writhes beneath Cas while they share another kiss, Dean silent while Cas pillages his mouth and moans into it.

 Cas lets up the pressure and Dean gasps, despite not actually needing to. The angel sits back on his heels, admiring Dean's flushed face and hair stuck up with sweat in different directions. "You are lovely," Cas trails the back of his knuckles along Dean's face before cupping his jaw. "So good. Such a good boy, Dean. Do you wish to see what you do to me, how hard you make me?"

 Dean nods, dick straining so hard against his panties the head has popped up a bit above the waistband, elastic digging a little into the swollen head.

"Aloud."

"Yes, sir."

"Very good," Cas strokes his hand up his panties, up Dean's erection, rubs gently at the slit, smearing pre-come around. Dean shudders all over, another moan tearing out of him.

 Castiel stands up over him, and Dean can see his erection straining against his slacks. "Your reward." Cas undoes his fly, and takes out his hard, prettily flushed cock. Dean stares, hypnotized, as a single drop of pre-come weeps from the tip and drips, hitting his thigh. His skin cries out for touch. "Do you want this, Dean? Do you want to pleasure me with your mouth, show me how good you can be for me?"

 Dean swallows and licks his lips. "Yes, sir. Please, sir." His eyes are huge, pupils blown.

 "Get up on your knees and show me, Dean."

 Dean gets to his knees, braces himself on Cas's thighs and takes the head of his dick gently into his mouth. He moans at the taste, at Castiel _filling_ him. Cas's hands find his hair again, stroking gently as he whispers praise. "So good, Dean. You're being so good. It didn't escape me that you didn't use your hands because I didn't tell you you could. Your mouth feels wonderful." His eyes seem to stay glued to Cas's, there is no escape from the angel's rapt gaze.

 A whimper escapes him, and he angles his mouth so his lips roll the rim of Cas's dick; he rasps his tongue over the slit for good measure before sucking at the soft spot under the head. Cas groans and clutches his hair, whispering nonsense praises. Cas's eyes have gone dark with pleasure, eyelids at half-mast.  
 "You're too good. That feels much too good. Just stroke me with those beautiful lips, Dean. Straight up and down only, or this will end."

 It physically pains Dean to contemplate that, so he does as he's told. It's not long before Cas is jerking his hips minutely, restraining himself from thrusting in deeply. He clutches Dean's head, fingers twitching, still stroking periodically. For the first time in a long time, Dean feels free. There is nothing except the task at hand, of giving pleasure. Of making Cas feel _good_ for once. His unending stream of praise fills Dean's ears, relaxing his constant anxiety; his hands in Dean's hair soothe, making him feel cherished. His unbroken gaze makes Dean feel like the whole of Cas's universe.

 "Love your mouth. So good. Feels so good, Dean. You make me feel so good. I want to fuck your beautiful mouth, want to come down your throat so you can feel that and see how good you are."  
Dean moans around Cas's cock, his hands clawing into Cas's pantlegs as his saliva seeps into the fabric at the base. He is feeling a very pleasurable mix of anticipation, anxiety, lust, and peace. He lives to serve. He needs to serve. Even if only in a dream, it's helping. His eyes slide shut.

 Cas grabs Dean's hair and tugs him off his erection. "Dean, tell me you want this. Tell me exactly what you want."

 "Sir...I do." Dean licks his swollen and spit-slick lips, swallows. He looks shyly up at Castiel, nearly boyish. "Please, fuck my face. Choke me on your dick. Fuck my throat until I black out for all I care—"  
 Castiel bends down and puts a fingertip to his lips. "Enough." He cups Dean's jaw and crouches in front of him, brings him in for a kiss that's all the tenderness and loving he has thirsted for. "I care. Deeply. And I will never hurt you again, so long as we both shall live, if I have any say at all."

 "Cas...please...I need to..." Dean looks up at him, aching to touch and be touched, vulnerable with need and desire.

  Cas drops another soft kiss on his lips before straightening back up and presenting his sex to Dean again. "Resume."

 "Yes, sir." Dean takes Cas's heated flesh slowly into his mouth, and he feels it throb. Cas's gaze is unrelenting.

 "You may touch yourself," Cas says, and on Dean's gasp, he shoves his dick right down the back of Dean's throat. Cas's hands hold Dean's head in place as he pumps his hips, and he can barely breathe. He starts getting dizzy as his hands pull down the panties and he takes himself in hand, pumping furiously as the endorphins kick in and his vision slowly fades out.

 "Good, good boy Dean, so hot, so hot, just for me, want to see you come." Cas groans and grinds into Dean's face, and in a distant part of his mind Dean knows the sheets are going to be a mess when he wakes up. Cas stops grinding and rocks his hips back and forth again, and Dean's nose winds up being crushed into Cas's pubic bone as he pulses, flooding Dean's throat with come. It's too much for Dean; he groans around Cas's dick and orgasms in a great crashing wave that shoots his come all over the floor and his hand— only to find himself twisted up in sweaty sheets, blinking into the darkness.  
It's been most of a year since he's felt anyone's touch, and now he's having freaking _wet dreams_ about his best friend.

 "Son of a bitch!"  
   
 He's not alone; a warm, hard body is pulling him close, and he struggles against it. "What the hell? Get off of me!"

 "Dean, it's alright."

 He'd recognize that low gravelly voice anywhere. "Cas...this. This is um, not a good time, man."

 "You're wrong. This is the best time." He pushes the sheets off of Dean, pins him down. Suddenly there's a warm wet tongue licking at his stomach and dick. Dean is pole-axed.  
 "Cas... what. What are you doing?"

 "I am giving you what you need." Cas's voice is low and even, matter-of-fact as he drags his tongue through Dean's jism.

 "You..." Dean groans, hips pinned into place, wrists in one of Cas's long-fingered hands, unable to move, "You what, dream-roofied me and now you think you can do whatever you want? Don't get me wrong, that.... that feels really good. I just—this. It's not us. OK?"

 Cas lets go of his wrists, and Dean shoves at his shoulders as he climbs up his body. "It can be. It may have always been." He leans in to kiss Dean, and Dean can't make himself turn his head at the soft press of lips on his own. He can't not lick back into the mouth that tastes like his own come. It's like he's back in that wheat-field, but a summer storm has come to wash over him, bringing relief to his dry and brittle heart.

 "Please, Dean. Submit."

 Dean is quiet a moment as Castiel holds him close —the press of skin flush to his own quenching his thirsty heart. "Yes, sir."

  
Until daybreak, Dean is secure in Cas's arms. Holding him safe and close, the angel occasionally whispers soft praise into his ear while he drifts in and out of sleep.   


**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to tell me you enjoy my pretentious porn by leaving feedback! Mwah!<333  
> Allllsooo.... when this gets to 100 kudos I'm releasing a sequel. Eighty-three is so close!!! I just thought I'd tell you guys instead of keeping it under my hat, now we're here. It's about 80% written already. ;)


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